But these events are yet far in the future, or perhaps in the past, or the present itself, depending on when you read this Kanel. A story remains untold of a time that, whenever you should read these histories, takes place before this other. So, forgive the absent mind of an old historian, and let us return to the task at hand.
**********
The two walked side by side as equals. Termon stood taller and more majestic, and in the sun’s fading rays he almost seemed to glow. He held a beautiful sword, and his lyre was strapped over a pack with a flute sticking out. Anoran stood a little shorter with a small sword from the valley that shook as he walked. The early spring sunset shot uncontainable colors across the sky, and a warm night would follow.
“Find a place to stay, hopefully a pleasant one, and then a boat tomorrow, eh?” the bard said.
“Yes, let’s hope this town treats us better than the last.”
Termon laughed. “I never would have imagined that you would be accompanying me on this journey.”
Anoran said, “Nor that you would befriend a priest of Vorlo or see the Valley…”
“Or hold the sword of my fathers…”
“Or the Creator or the Shadow or any of it.”
Termon stared deeply at the burning sunset. “No, I wouldn’t have. But why are you coming?”
“Perhaps… the wind seemed to blow it,” Anoran replied.
They walked through the city gates. They were beautiful. Yelme construction, certainly. The ancient ones didn’t look well on outsiders, which did not bode well on their chances for a pleasant room. Termon sang as they walked into the gates:
Two young men
Free of care
The world before them
A terrible quest.
No loves, no hopes,
Dreams like the stars,
Hearts like the raging sea…
“Hmm, what comes after that…”
The clouds shone a dull, dark silver, and the ocean’s waves echoed through the streets. Men returned home, shops closed, and vagrants came out of hiding. Some of the houses were beautiful, some poor. It was a well-divided city, and the looks given them confirmed which side they belonged in.
“What legend are you singing?” Anoran asked.
“Let’s see, what’s a good name? How about Anoran and Termon Safely Recover the Creator’s Tears?”
“Sounds interesting, though I think it may be a bit of a revision of the true story. Shall we get started tomorrow?”
“It’s already begun, you know. A long time ago.” They found a rowdy-looking inn on the edge of town, the boisterous sound of voices shouting from within. “I think they could use an entertainer,” Termon said. “You know, our trail will take us not far from the Manor. Would you like to meet my family?”
**********
“You’re the evil priest,” one of the young children said. “This time, I’m the hero.”
“No, not again! I’m always the bad guy!”
They were playing in the ruins, again. In the daylight, of course! There were ghosts at night. “Look,” said a third. “We’ll play for it. Whoever can jump those piles of stone gets to choose first.”
The first boy looked up. “Anytime.”
The first and third both attempted to the jump, but the third fell. The choice went to his friend.
“I’m Anoran, and you’re Termon.”
“You always play Anoran,” some of the boys mumbled.
Then he shouted, “The rest of you are hounds!!” And they chased him around the fallen stones.
Everyone, thanks for reading and making it to the end! Please let me know what you thought of the story.
I'm currently working on the story of four California friends fighting a wizard prince while trying to not let it ruin their senior year of high school. Check our more info at jtstoll.com/books.
Thank you!